Bryn’s heart kicked up as they entered the arena. She’d only ever heard of fighting competitions for money, where spectators placed bets on who would win and lose. The arena had the aura of danger even though it was currently quiet. Bryn could practically hear the echo of the crowd cheering on someone’s violent end earlier in the day.
As though wanting to shelter her from such a disreputable place, Rangar wrapped an arm around her waist. “It’s just through here.”
As they passed beneath archways, more torchlight appeared ahead. Finally, they stepped out into the arena floor covered with sand. A small cluster of people congregated in the center of the arena, speaking low and urgently amongst themselves.
Bryn immediately recognized some of the people who had come for this gathering: besides Elysander and Jon Dryden, Illiana was there, and Prince Anter Jarkkinen from Vil-Kevi, along with Mage Albia. But there were many faces she didn’t know. A handful of mages and apprentices in robes from Vil-Rossengard, two raven-haired women whose clothes looked Zaradonish, and common folk in farmers’ and laborers’ garb, among others.
Looking over the crowd, Bryn’s skin danced with the promise of magic.
Rangar strode to the head of the crowd, signaling for Bryn and Valenden to join him. Once they took their place, the rest of the crowd quieted.
“Friends,” Rangar announced. “I thank you for your willingness to travel here for this important occasion. Each of you has come from far and wide, leaving behind your homes to join us. Your sacrifice is not taken lightly; we are honored to call you allies.”
He took Bryn’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
“The berserkir wolf attacks have gone on too long,” he declared. “All of us in this room have lost neighbors, friends, and family to their scourge. In the Wollin, we discovered the source of the wolves, and now it is time to end the wolves themselves. Prince Anter, have you brought the beast?”
Prince Anter signaled to two men, who carted out an iron cage. The berserkir wolf they’d examined in Higharbor Keep paced in the cage, snarling. The Vil-Kevi soldiers set the wolf in the middle of the arena.
The closest people drew back, whispering amongst themselves again, and Bryn realized it was the first time some of them had seen one of the black-eyed berserkir beasts up close.
“We have invited each of you here today because of your magical abilities,” Rangar said. “From princes to common folk, you each hold amplifier hexes that can unite to defeat this great evil and bring peace to the land once more.”
Some of the common folk shifted nervously. The two refugee Zaradonish women clutched hands. There had to be about twenty-five casters gathered in all, and most of them had kept their magic secret until now. The Zaradonish witches would have been sentenced to death if their abilities had ever come to light in their restrictive kingdom, but even the common folk from the Mirien and the Wollin had risked much to practice magic secretly.
When Rangar had sent messengers throughout the kingdoms looking for casters of all abilities, Bryn had been worried none would dare to respond, afraid that the decree for the free use of magic wasn’t trustworthy. But King Mars, in the Mirien, and Queen Phillipa, in the Wollin, had taken steps to demonstrate to their people that magic was no longer a sin—and some brave souls had believed them and come.
Rangar held up Bryn’s hand. “My wife, Queen Bryn, has assumed the title of the Mage Queen in our land. Though she is still in the apprentice phase, she is working to take over as head mage from my aunt, who remains behind to protect our land in our absence.” He met Bryn’s gaze with one filled with pride. “Our Mage Queen shall lead the amplifier hex today.”
Bryn’s stomach tightened with excitement and a twinge of fear. For the last two weeks, she had worked diligently with Mage Marna and Ren to devise a spell that might put an end to the berserkir wolves, and now was her chance to prove herself not just to her people but to all of the Eyrie, royals and common folk alike.
Bryn cleared her throat. The attendees fell silent, awaiting her words. Rumors had spread about her possession spell and her miraculous return to her body, and she’d been met with awe and reverence from fellow casters ever since.
“Friends,” she said. “The berserkir wolves were created with a dark magic spell adapted from an ancient Rumese incantation to strengthen hunting dogs. The intention was to scare off the populace from using magic, and many still fear magic’s use despite the decree now allowing it. Today, we will not only stop the wolf attacks but show the people of the Eyrie that magic has the capability for great good.” She extended her hands on either side. “Everyone, please hold hands around the caged wolf.”
Rangar and Valenden grasped her hands, and the group stretched out in a wide circle as everyone clasped hands.
“With all of our voices chanting the amplifier spell, I will put an end to these wolves.” She squeezed Rangar’s hand. “If you’re ready, begin.”
Rangar led the chant. “Arnan ka spartha. Arnan ka spartha . . .” Twenty-five voices rose to match his as they recited the words in unison. A crackle of energy spread throughout the arena. The torchlights flickered. The caged wolf snarled as though sensing the change in the air.
Their voices fell into a perfect rhythm, and Bryn’s eyes sank closed.
Now, she told herself.It’s up to me.
In the Baersladen, she, Mage Marna, and Ren had run through countless possibilities to defeat the wolves. They had studied the original Rumese spell that had created them, but attempting to reverse it hadn’t worked. Ren had finally come up with an idea inspired by Calista, whose specialty had been controlling the natural elements. “We need something that can touch all corners of the Eyrie at once,” Ren had said. “That no wolves can run or hide from.”
Now, Bryn touched her left shoulder blade, where Mage Marna had bandaged a fresh hexmark before they’d left. Taking a deep breath to center herself, she spoke the new spell’s words.
“Nevnon ka.”
The casters continued chanting the amplifier hex, and she felt the amplifying energy crackling, swelling, strengthening her own spell.
Closing her eyes, she recited hers again. “Nevnon ka.”
Their voices continued, unwavering, into the night. A spell to encompass all eight kingdoms of the Eyrie required not only this large group of casters—the largest group gathered in recent history—but also time. They chanted long after midnight until their voices were hoarse.
Slowly, a strange chill spread over the arena. A breeze blustered in from its high open arches with the promise of frost. Though snow wasn’t unheard of in Ardmoor, no snow clouds had hung overhead earlier that day.
